To whom it may concern
by Scamasax
Summary: 'I do not know where to begin this tale, nor in truth do I know if anyone will bother to read it' Thus Mathias began his last letter.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue – To whom it may concern**

_I do not know where to begin this tale, nor in truth do I know if anyone will bother to read it, but recent events have caused me to look inward, to what once was. I realize that I have never shared any telling of my past either good or bad, it never seemed fitting. That is not due to any flaw that the one asking the question possessed, but because do not like looking back. It reminds me of what I have lost_...

He lifted the pen and looked critically at his works, his brow furrowed in distaste. He lay the pen gently down upon the wooden table, grabbed the paper and tore it to shreds. Too emotional, it wasn't fitting. With a slow flick of his wrists he condemned the words to the flames and erased the weak words from existence. It was not the right way to write this last missive, his inner feelings had nothing to do with the subject, furthermore it had no purpose.

Feelings were one of such things that should be kept to oneself; it was no one else's business what he felt. That was a bit stubborn point of view perhaps, but by this point, pride was all he had left. Everything else, that had not been lost already, was soon to be. He would be dammed if he lost that last part of his being as well, by his own hand no less.

He brought his musings back to the blank paper on the table, picking the pen up and tapping it on the wooden surface. Perhaps it was better not to write anything at all. After all, none would probably read it anyway and he could spend his last hours doing things he actually _liked_. The fact that he wouldn't risk embarrassing himself if he let the matter, and the letter, lie made the decision lean toward abandoning his self assigned project. There was only one thing worse than embarrassment due to his own words, and that was that those words caused him to be pitied. He was not a weakling in need of that sentiment! Pity was never good for anything. One may pity a victim of cruel treatment afterwards, but that did not make the act any less done, and it does not erase the damage done. Pity is a weak sentiment, it never had any purpose.

It was a feeling for the weak.

He stood and walked over to the window. Cracks were spread across the damaged glass like the strings of a spider web. The setting sun caught them in way that produced the most peculiar effect. The cracks lighted more up in comparison to the rest of the window and somehow seemed that way to produce its own blue-white light. He folded his hands behind his back and just gazed at the sun as it lost its battle to the night. The presence of the blackness in the sky became more and more dominant as time slipped away. The sun disappeared like a whisper, gradually and quietly. One almost didn't realize it was completely gone until all traces of it moved on. Strangely the odd light effect in the intricate web-like pattern on the glass lasted a bit longer than the sun itself, but before long, that too was gone.

Even after the light was gone he continued looking out but not seeing anything beyond the glass. he was looking at nothing but the pictures his memory saw fit to grant him in this state. He grimaced, shaking his head as is the wont of people recalling things they rather hadn't. He breathed a heavy sign as he realized that there probably wasn't any way around the damn thing. He owed it to them. He knew that.

Somehow that made it worse.

By that though his eyes drifted to the paintings on the far wall, one in particular stood out. When that painting had been made, everyone was still here. The painting with its radiant colours was bathed in the light of the flames from the fireplace, though it had become one of his oldest possessions one could not tell by a mere glance. It was well kept, age had not been allowed to make its mark, no matter the times.

The strange thing was that despite the fact that he knew each face, truly knew them, he could not recognize them, not in comparison to what they became after, least of all himself. Everyone had changed. He would like to say that they changed for the better, but he couldn't say that with a straight face, and it bothered him more than he would care to admit.

The painting looked wrong in this light, empty and... fake. The hand lifted and his pale fingers ghosted the surface of painting, touching each painted face but his own in a silent greeting. For seconds or hours, he could not tell, he simply stood watching, as if to ingrain each face in memory. The hand fell and he moved away with dragging movements, tearing his gaze from the painting. There were other things to do after all than escape into memories, no matter how pleasant that was. He directed his gaze back to his current task to escape the path his thoughts were taking him. He stared at the offending blank page, which seemed to fair well enough in its present state.

State... perhaps that was the way to begin, he put the pen to the paper and began moving it in patterns, drawing the sound he wished to convey.

_To whom it may concern_

_I have in the past rarely shared my personal story, and if the situation was otherwise I wouldn't commit it to paper now of all times. Regardless of my own wishes, the time we spend together owes you an explanation for my actions, and I will not be able to tell to you in person, so this compromise will have to do._

_Silence, most of our stories, the stories of nations, begins in a state of complete silence. Personally I believe that is the only way they were ever meant to begin, in silence, in peace. Peacetime has proved in the past as in the present, to be the only time where one of our kind can arise. Empires may grow larger with war, but something is rarely created from nothing during strife, it only sets new borders between things that were there before the conflict. With that being said, to every rule there are exceptions, I am one such. My own story did not begin like that. I have later come to understand that I am quite unique in this aspect. My story began in the same manner as most others end, with war._


	2. War

**Chapter 1 - War**

_I do not remember much of the beginning. Whenever I try I see nothing but fragmented images, separate pictures that doesn't fit together at all. The few times the memory seems to be in my grasp, it scatters and fades like an unwanted dream. The impression stays but the great picture escapes memory. The first thing I truly remember, my first memory, is that of a white world..._

Everything was white. Trees stood all around him with branches covered in glittering white reaching towards the sky. The clearing he stood in was surrounded by bushes and trees glimmering in the light of the winter sun. He did not recall how he came to be in such a place, or where it actually was. All he knew was that it was beautiful.

The first thing he noted was the sun shining down from a clear blue sky. As he allowed himself to look closer he discovered that there up there were shinning spots of white. Perhaps the white stuff on the ground and the trees was meant to be up there but somehow had fallen. Curious he bended down and gently touched the strange dust, it was cold and fingers left a mark where they had been... strange.

He lifted his hand so that his shadow stretched a bit further from his frame, covering the pretty dust from the light. As soon as the shadow settled, the powder stopped glimmering. Immediately he pulled his hand back, startled. To his relief the dust was not broken but readopted its strange but comforting reflection when the sun could reach it again. He looked up to the blue sky and down to the white cold powder beneath him and wondered. Perhaps the white dust needed help to get back up to the other white stuff in the sky?

He giggled, a smile rose as he claimed a handful of the pretty glittering stuff and threw it skyward. To his surprise it did not get stuck there but gently glided down until it fell upon the rest of the white. His eyebrows connected in a frown, why hadn't it gone up like the other stuff? He looked back up towards the sky. Maybe he was meant to throw it faster, higher.

His second attempt brought it higher into the blue, but was then taken by a gentle wind and blown away from the field into the dark forest behind him. As fast as he could he tried to follow, he leapt over a flowing stream and ran into the forest following the powder he threw back into the sky. As he went further into the forest, the light faded until it was only visible once in a while. The branches that shielded the ground from the sunlight securely kept much light from entering the darker realm that lay at the roots of the trees.

The young child didn't notice, not the absence of light or the fact that all sounds suddenly seized. Easily distracted, as children are, the young boy did not notice that the light was gone before the shining dust had faded into nothing.

"Where did you go?" He asked the stillness that enveloped the forest. He turned on the spot to look all the way around him after the shining dust. There was no answer, there was nothing at all, no sound, no movement, not even a breeze lifted. The darkness suddenly tightened as if it was a being all unto itself, and the shadows grew longer from their root at the ancient trees. One crept toward him and fastened itself onto his own shadow, mending into it. The darkness seemed to come from everywhere, and nowhere, if that made any sense. It folded around him in the darkest of embraces.

There was something that felt _wrong_, the dark silent world he had entered was not the bright one that he laughed in, in the field, in the sunlight. There was less snow here, almost nothing at all. The ground was dark and bare of anything but a few fallen leafs or branches.

The oppressing darkness and the complete an utter quiet filled his being with dread. Something was near he knew by instinct, something that wasn't meant to be.

Something wrong.

A sound suddenly rose from the south, from the other side of the forest. The sound rose loudly but was suddenly cut of, from one moment to the other. Without hesitating he went, first slowly, then running towards the first sound he ever heard that hadn't been produced by himself or the wind. The shadows reached out as to catch him, make him stay. Unfortunately, he was not old enough to understand the meaning and significance of that. The small clearing was left behind in the blackness. The shadow crept back into the void it had come from and disappeared.

-[page break]-

He was getting closer, small fading sounds were created from somewhere ahead, in the direction he was running. He was still not close enough to understand was kind of sound it was, but it must come from many people according to the different voices that sometimes rose. Perhaps someone there could tell what this place was and why he was here. Perhaps someone there knew him. The mere thought gladdened his heart and he forced himself to run faster ignoring the fact that he was getting tired.

His heart hammered in his chest and he heaved air into his lungs for ever third step he took. A fallen tree that stood in his path was passed with a high jump, and then he was out in the open. He couldn't help but smile then the sun greeted him with its warm rays of light. He didn't stop to enjoy the warmth though, for his mind was set on the task of discovering who had made the noise he heard earlier.

He glanced up to let his features be bathed in the light and closed his eyes for a few seconds. That turned out to be a mistake on his part, and the consequences follow a split second after.

A stone found itself in his path, he stumbled and almost regained his bearing was it not for the frozen water that lay beyond. Frantic moments tried to stall what the boy knew was coming, but to no gain. In a shower of white dust he fell, unable to halt his momentum he glided forward. Uselessly he tried to find a hold on the bare surface but with no luck. His momentum had thrown him onto the icy surface that now didn't seem to want to let him go.

The glide increased its pace as he came to a hill and he laughed in joy as he whooped down the icy path. The trip came to an end when he was thrown into a pile of snow at the end of the stream. For a few seconds the child disappeared completely from sight, all that could be seen was the white snow that covered everything else. That was until a small blond head sprouted from underneath the snow like the first spring flowers at the end of winter. He climbed out of the pile he had been thrown into while grinning as wide as his features would allow.

That had been _awesome_! He rose to his feet, covered from head to toe in snow and started to walk back towards the top of the hill. This time he would see if he could throw himself longer. Just as he decided that he came to a halt as he spotted something in the snow to the right. Curious he neared the form until he could see what it was.

A man was lying there.

The man had long blond hair that would have ended at his shoulders if he had been standing. On the ground it was thrown around him in disarray and hid most of his face. He was young, not as young as the boy though, just old enough to be called a man. He was lying on his back with an arm to his side holding a strange item. One part of it was long and made of wood, but at the tip was a sharp head made of something Gray. The Gray part of the item looked very sharp and was reflecting the sun rays, but only in the places there wasn't covered by something red.

The man was wearing a fur lined cape like the boy, the cape was held in place by a small metal ring. He could not see what else the other was wearing since it was hidden by the heavy cape.

But why was he lying there? The boy kneeled down carefully, thinking that the man might be asleep. With great care he reached out to the other, a hand was laid on the young man's warm chest. He shook gently the other to rouse him. When no reaction was given he reached out to brush the hair aside. The hair was ice cold and covered in a small layer of glittering frost. As he removed the hair, more and more of the face appeared, and the child discovered something.

His eyes were open.

"Oh sorry sir I didn't mean to-" He snatched the hand back as if he had been burned and stared at the features of the lying figure. There was no reaction.

"...sir?" Gaining courage he waved his hand in front of the man's eyes. The child tried speaking up again but there was no reaction at all. The man was just lying there doing nothing... it was rather rude really. He sat back and gave the other an angry stare, the least the man could do was answer. The hand still on the man's chest lifted, he cast a casual gaze down when he felt something weird and froze. His hand was covered in something red.

There was some red and warm liquid covering the man chest, it ran in small rivers down to the ground and made the snow red. It had been hard to see before because the man was wearing dark coloured clothing. He touched the other again, but it felt colder, and the chest wasn't moving to breath. He gaze whipped to focus on the face, the eyes were open but they didn't see anything, not any more. Horrified he scooted away, he suddenly felt cold, frozen, like he would never feel warm again. His breath came in quick hollow gasps that didn't have anything to do with his run earlier. The eyes just stared at the figure on the ground, and then on his own hands that was covered in blood.

He didn't know how long he sat there, staring at the dead figure on the ground, but it couldn't have been long.

A roar of pain rose very close, just from over the hill and shook him out of his frozen state. His still very wide open eyes shifted to the location from which the sound came.

He gave the man on the ground one last look, and stood to leave in direction of the yells and loud noise that sounded from over the hill. A few steps were all he took before he stopped. Driven by some instinct he couldn't explain he kneeled back upon the ground right next to the man's head. He took his gloves off and gently closed the other man's unseeing eyes with hands that were shaking.

A foreign felling tightened in his chest just above the heart, a feeling of loss and something else. Snowflakes fell from the sky in that moments, covering the dead man with a fine layer of snow. In a few hours no one would be able to discern that something of such violent nature had happen there. A newcomer would think the place at peace, because all that their eyes would see was the fine layer of glittering white that lay high and low everywhere... and that was all there was.

There were no birds singing in the sky.

No animals running beneath them.

No sound at all.

There was nothing but the white and the silence.

Carefully he took the long item from the hand that didn't need it any-more. He discarded the plan of carrying it with him when it became evident that he would not be able to lift it for more than a few paces. Instead he took a small blank item the other had in his belt, it was little and straight but also very sharp. Something in him told him that he would need it.

He rose to his feet once again and moved cautiously over the hill. Silently he reached the top and kneeled down to take a glance at what happened down there without being seen. The blue eyes widened in horror at the scene that was presented before his eyes and he found himself unable to move, to even breathe. Down there the world wasn't white.

It was red.

_...The first being I ever meet was a dead man, and though that admittedly frightened me, I learned soon after that while the dead are terrifying to behold, it is the living that are dangerous. It is they who create the nightmares that hold us captive in the night._


	3. Not alone

**Chapter 2 - Not alone.**

_War followed war in the years that came after, too many for me to list here. But none of those wars do I remember more vividly than the first battle I ever entered. In that first battle I learned to be a warrior because I had to be, my very existence depended upon it. My first battle was also the first time I encountered another nation but he was nothing like me, and he was an enemy. I only learned later that the person I battled that day was not only a nation, he was an empire, and he had never lost a war… _

Red, everything was red. A dark red that covered everything and filled the world with roars and screams. He gripped the small weapon tightly in an inexperienced hold. The field of battle was obviously parted into two fronts. One side was wearing glittering armour, some wielding swords fighting in tight disciplined formations with tall shields held in front of them. What the opposing front lacked in armour and numbers they outweighed in experience.

The other side was far more flexible in their attack pattern. Axes were the preferred weapon by the other side, though there were some sword wielders in between it were not the majority who used those. The axes did nothing to disappoint there masters in field of battle. With better reach and momentum the axes proved superior in the hands of experience.

One by one, the young blue eyes watched men fall. Once they fell, they never moved again, never got up, painting the white in a thicker warmer red.

Just like the dead man in the snow.

Despite this horrifying truth the battle cries did not diminish, did not falter and the death was not stopped. Metal clang against metal in the frosty air, and the gentle wind carried the sound long in the empty landscape around them. The forests beyond rang with the hollow echo of death but else remained silent. Snow crunched beneath the body of another fallen, and the killer removed the sword from its rest in the dead man's chest uncaringly before turning to face the next. It did not stop there. No matter how many fell no one stood back to see what their deadly work had caused, how many lives had been lost.

It was the single most horrible thing he had ever seen in his short life span. The snow crunched beneath his leather boots as he stood as tall as he was. No one noticed him. The sky was still blue above him and the rest of the world was still white behind him. It was only _here_ it was wrong. It was only _here_ it was red.

It had to be stopped.

The small feet marked his fast pace in the snow. Before long he was at the bottom of the hill with the weapon drawn. There was a man standing there, a tall dark-haired man wielding a sword that was easily twice as long as the boy, wearing golden armour. The sword was pointed at a blond man lying on the ground. Without a single glace the boy knew in his heart that the enemy was not the fallen man.

The dark haired grinned at the fallen warrior before him. The sword's blade glimmered as it was lifted, the sunrays reflected on the red stained blade. The dark-haired grinned in a superior manner, seeming to favour the moment for a spell. Blue eyes locked with the brown ones in defiance, not once did he cower. That fact did nothing to unsettle the victor, it only widened the grin on his lips.

"Pity, here I thought that you might be an actual challenge Germania. What a waste" He spoke like one who was discussing some everyday occurrence, like the weather. Only the tone of the last word bore a strange mix of accomplishment and disappointment. As the last word was spoken the sword started to descend, to end the northern warrior.

The sword only came halfway.

Due to his inferior height, and the fact that the enemy was covered in armour, there was no other place to attack as effectively. The enemy was protected by strange armour from head to ankle. Later the man would come to realize that it was a stupid idea to wear sandals in battle. Those were not great at deflecting attacks, not even from a very small knife.

It was unclear which one of the three were the most surprised. The one who had expected to die and did not, the one who was attacking and was attacked himself, or the young attacker because his foolish idea actually worked.

The result also left something to be desired.

The ridiculously big sword redirected its path to hit the new enemy, an enemy that was no interest in being hit. Throwing himself backwards instantly saved the child of the unpleasant experienced of beheading. Unfortunately the quick act cost him the only weapon he had. The knife was still lodged in the enemy's foot, a fact aforementioned enemy was not pleased about.

With speed that seemed more borne out of instinct than anything else, the dark haired enemy kneeled down and ripped the weapon loose. Gasping heavily the strange warrior fixed his widened eyes on the knife, and then a pair of furious eyes glared at the new attacker.

"You are going to regret doing that." The knife was flung violently to the side, the child did not focus on it long enough to see where it landed. It was too far away no matter where it landed, because he would have to make it past the enemy commander to get it. Judging by the look he was receiving, that was not happening.

He was on his feet and running before the fact truly registered in his mind. The child flung himself ahead, away, as fast as his feet could carry him into the forest. The branches and roots aided him due to his small size. He could run through tight places the other could not. The small feet sped past trees and jumped over bushes while accomplishing nothing but a few seconds ahead of the pursuer. A desperate leap to the left saved him from having the left arm removed, a tree was less fortunate.

A fallen tree was ahead, but there was no time to find a way around it, heavy footsteps thundered behind him. Too close, the enemy was too close. He could only keep the pace and hope the other would tire at some point no matter how unlikely that was. Pale hands gripped at anything they could reach, due more to luck than skill the small figure managed to drag himself on top of the tree, only to be pulled back violently.

If he got caught he was dead.

The owner of the rough hand let out a yell when he tumbled backwards, only holding a little brown cape as prize. The previous owner of the cape tumbled over to the other side of the fallen tree, right into a torn bush. The child tore his hands bloodied to get further away from the attacker. The heart hammered his chest as took to crawl beneath the branches. An angry outburst from somewhere behind him made it quite clear that the pursuer had not given up.

Finger drug into the frozen earth and pushed himself further, he could almost see the end. Throwing all caution to the winds he tore the branches ahead of him away, regardless of the deep gashes that left in the soft skin of his hands. If the other caught him those would be the _least_ of his problems. The last branches was pushed aside and the child leaped towards freedom, only to be stooped short.

A hand had locked around his ankle. Blue eyes widened in fright were captured by dark brown ones narrowed in anger.

"I got you now."

The child kicked and screamed. He clung desperately to the branches around him with all his strength. No matter what he did he was pulled backwards, out of the poor cover the leafless bush had provided. The dark-haired enemy lifted him into the open by the hold on the ankle that was excruciating painful.

The enemy soldier slammed and hand down around the throat of the boy, effectively pinning the child to the ground. The dark-haired let go of the abused ankle in favour of pulling a menacing looking knife from his belt. When the tip of the blank blade lay at the child's cheek the violent struggles stopped.

"Interesting... you are a nation, and a new one at that." The hand reached out and stroked the blond hair gently. "You can't be more than a few hours old." The hand with the knife continued to stroke the blond hair in thought, though the cold eyes showed nothing but a dull interest that quickly faded. The child tried to curl up but was prevented by a rough shake by the hand at the boy's throat. The other hand patted the check almost affectionately, a gesture that was completely forgotten because that very hand then moved to strike with the weapon it held.

"Sorry boy, but I cannot allow you to live long enough to grow into a man. I did not make it this far by taking foolish chances." The strange regret in that voice did nothing to halt the knife as it fell towards the panicky beating heart beneath it.

The breath hitched and a pair of blue eyes snapped close, waiting for the pain.

It never came.

Suddenly the weight was off his throat and the sound of branches breaking due to violent force followed. Without the weight holding he sat up, his eyes snapping towards the sound. The enemy had been thrown into the thorn bush he had dragged the child out of. A blond man was fighting him, wrestling for control of the long dagger that had been intended for the child's heart. The armoured stranger was not keen on letting that happen and fought back like a man possessed. It was then the boy recognized his savour, it was the man called Germania, the one he had saved.

"So you are killing children now, you pathetic beast!"Germania gripped the other man's dark hair and slammed him face down into a sharp looking rock. The knife fell to the ground when its owner momentarily lost his hold. Relief rose in the child's eyes when he saw that, but the relief was short lived.

Knowing that he was about to lose, the enemy gripped a fistful of dirt that had gotten lose during the battle with the child. Immediately he threw it directly into the taller nations eyes. With a hard push followed by a kick to the opponent's stomach, the blond man was thrown to the ground fumbling with his eyes trying to remove the dirt.

Another sharp kick sent the blond man tumbling down the hill, into the clearing below. Metal rang against metal as the enemy drew his sword.

"I will deal with you later!" A nasty grin was sent back to the younger nation behind him before he followed the greater opponent. Seconds later the child was alone, he knew it wouldn't be for long. In the distance he could he branches breaking and the sharp hollow sound only a sword can make.

He placed his hands on the ground to support himself and winced when the open wounds came in contact with the ice. Red dripped from them, but strangely he hadn't noticed the pain until now. The hands shook violently for another reason than the biting cold. In an attempt to stop the bleeding he crossed his arms and held them close to his body.

It didn't help

Everything was seen though a thick fog, he felt impossibly drained. The snow crunched beneath his feet as he slowly stood up, finger still dripping with blood. Beset by fatigue he swayed on his feet, blinking hard to keep aware of his surroundings. What should he do now? The sounds of a violent battle still rang from the bottom of the hill.

The blue eyed fell on the shinning blade the enemy had abandoned in favour of the sword. Shaking fingers stretched towards the hilt of the weapon and held fast, slowly colouring it red beneath the small palm. He had to use both hands to lift it. The dagger was almost too big to wield properly, but only almost.

It would have to do

Determinate he walked up to the hill and looked down into the darkness below. Tightening his grip on the weapon he stepped into the unknown.

-[Page break]-

The trees swished past the tiny figure. Dagger held with both hands he ran as fast as caution allowed. The child knew he would be no use to the blond man if the enemy discovered him. The element of surprise was his only advantage. The fact that he was running towards the danger he had just tried to flee didn't escape the young nation.

The sounds still came from ahead, once in a while he saw the work of the thick blade the enemy carried with him. No doubt Germania was using the terrain to his advantage, and trying to keep moving. Unlike the enemy, Germania wasn't armed. He hadn't seen any weapons on the blond man. The child clenched the dagger harder, it would be needed.

"Stand still and fight like a man, heathen!"

Germania ducked a particulate violent swing that instead of his neck bit into the tree behind him. With the sword momentarily stuck into the ancient tree, Germania followed up with a solid bunch to the jaw. Unfazed by the blow the enemy soldier roared and yanked the sword free. Only by stumbling back uncontrollably was the sharp blade avoided.

Focusing on the blade Germania did not pay attention on the ground, and therefore did not see the root. The heel caught the root and the warrior tumbled to the ground. Kicking out at the enemy's ankle Germania stopped the stranger from delivering the final blow.

But now Germania was caught with his back against an ancient tree, cornered. The battle was over. Rough laughter filled the frost clear air as the enemy realized the very fact. The tip of the blade nestled against the throat Germania who just glared at the invader. Not even blinking when the blade was pressed hard enough to draw blood.

"You should have surrendered when you had the chance Germania." The enemy drew a line across the pale neck to stress his point. To the unsaid threat the trapped soldier just narrows his eyes into slits.

"_Never_! _You_ are the one that brought the war, do you honestly just expect us to just roll over? You'll never have the north, Rome!" For a moment it seemed that Germania would attack the other regardless of the sword between them. Any such attempt was thwarted with a quick intervention on the one called Rome. Both caught up in the conversation none noticed a small figure sneak closer in cover of the leafless branches.

"Oh, but with your death the north _has_ fallen. I have won." Rome made a gesture toward the surrounding area with a sweeping motion. "All this is mine now." Obvious or careless of the glare that was sent his way at those very words Rome grinned. The grin suddenly turned thoughtful and his eyes flicked to the hill behind them. Very aware of what the dark-haired was thinking of the boy ducked down and remained _very_ still. If he was discovered now everything would be ruined.

"...That is as soon as I have dealt with the young one." Rome gave word to his line of thought before he turned his attention back to the enemy in front of him. He would not make the mistake of forgetting the warrior in favour of the child again, that mistake he would only make mistake _once_. Had he been a bit less focused on his enemy he might have noticed a small breath of relief to his right when he turned his head away.

"Oh, yes, child killing was always your forte!" The blond man hiss as loud as the sword permitted. By instinct his hands lifted to remove the blade, but at flick of Rome's wrist cured him of that desire. Instead he resumed the furious glare that would have felled the southern warrior instantly if looks could kill. Unfortunately for the trapped warrior such a thing was not possible.

Rome scathed his chin thoughtful at those words, not paying any attention to the other's rage. "I might not need to kill him." His eyes drifted back to the hill on which he thought the child still was. "He is young and children are easily moulded in that age. I can raise him to believe what I tell him." To those words Germania paled considerably.

"You wouldn't..." He shook his head in denial. Strangely, to the child from his shelter in the bushes, the blond looked like someone who had just been betrayed.

"Why not? It worked with Gaul and he was much older... yes, that _could_ work." Rome looked like someone who liked the idea more and more, and it sickened the child hiding in the bushes. He would never trust that person, never! He crawled under another branch dragging the ridiculously huge dagger behind him. He had given up lifting the thing a few meters back, it was simply too heavy.

He was almost there.

He pulled up behind the tree the blond man was trapped against and curled up so not to be seen. Now was the difficult part, how on earth was he to get the knife to Germania without being seen? From this angle it was an impossible feat.

"Well first things first." The man he had come to hate and fear sneered on the other side of the tree he was hiding behind. Somehow it sounded like the man was trying to hold back all other emotions than hate. "On your knees!" The sound of something heavy hitting the ground on the other side of the tree left no illusion that Germania had been forced to do just that.

"Any last words?" Rome asked while looking into the eyes of the fallen enemy, the only one that had lasted this long. Something akin to regret crossed into his eyes, but disappeared as fast as it had appeared.  
Germania breathed in deeply, when it became evident that there was no way out this time. Then, to his surprise something cold was pressed into his hands from behind. A quick look backwards granted him a glimpse of blue eyes and blond hair before the small figure ducked behind the tree. His experienced hands were not long in discovering what the little soul had given him. He had to force himself not to let the shock show.

The child's heart hammered in his chest as he ducked back behind the tree and allowed himself three second to gather his wits. That was the difficult part, now came the more dangerous part. Ducking back underneath the bush he crawled back to the stones he had crossed getting there. Among them was a nice sharp one, it would have to do.

Throwing all caution to the wind he stepped into the open, only armed with a stone. Rome stood with his back to the child and therefore did not see him, but Germania did. For a split-second their eyes locked. Germania shook his head motioning the child to back off with small movements of his hand. Regardless of this the young nation drew his hand back, aimed and let it fly. It connected just below the temple.

Rome flinched and snapped his attention at the new attacker. When he saw who it was that had thrown the rock his brown eyes widened a fraction. Remembering the more dangerous enemy in front of him he tried to resume his conduct, but by then it was too late. Those few seconds had been enough.

The pommel of his own dagger connected to the abused temple and sent him crashing to the ground. He managed to get to his feet just before the blade of the dagger dug deeply into the air where his neck had been only moments before. The blond man held the dagger in one hand moving it back and forth in fluid motions to keep the enemy on edge. Rome noted with distaste that the dagger his ancient enemy held was his own.

Voices came from the forest and diverted Germania's attention but not for long. There was no mistaking from what people those voices came. The soldiers of Rome had lost and the rest of Germania's warriors was coming this way.

Rome flung the dagger blade aside by violently slamming his sword directly into the blade taking Germania off guard. Then he turned and ran as fast as his feet could carry him back south. The tracks in the snow were soon the only proof that he had been there at all. Soon the soldiers would break through the forest in search of their nation, but neither of the two in the clearing paid them any heed.

Germania kneeled down before the boy so that they were on eye height. He did this slowly like he was dealing with a frightened animal rather than a child. Aforementioned child tilted his head in curiosity, this man felt different than the other soldiers. It was like the blond man was... special, in some way the other soldiers were not. The enemy had felt the same way, he registered mentally but he pushed the thought aside for now.

"Hello young one, my name is Germania." Carefully a hand was reached out towards the child. First the child did not know what to do with it, but then he reached his own hand out in the same manner and grasped the hand in his. Germania's bigger hand could easily have crushed the hand it held, but he was very careful not to harm the bleeding palm further. "Might I know your name?"

A blank expression was the only thing the ancient nation received in response at first. Not because that the child wished to be rude in any way, but because that he did not know the answer. Then suddenly the answer presented itself, like he had known it all the time but somehow had forgot.

"Dane... I am Dane."

_...The battle was won. But the war was far from over, for I made a powerful enemy that day. Rome was a hateful empire, regardless of what have been told of him since, I never found him noble. He was also prideful, and therefore never forgot a defeat, no matter how small. Therefore, what followed this battle were centuries of warfare, against an older and much stronger nation than me. What I didn't realize then was that the empire of Rome had an almost endless supply of eager soldiers, and they never stopped coming._

_But I had also found an ally that day. Had it not been for Germania I would not have lived at all but for a few hours. I always remember him fondly, for he became my first, only and last guardian in this world. _

_author's note:_

_Thank you for the reviews Maria-pipkin and AngieRouge! it keeps me writing :)  
_


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